


Can't help it

by schrijverr



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Touch-Starved, World War I, blake is the best, fluff with angst undertones, since its not explicitly shippy but was written as them loving each other, though it could also be read as platonice or will having a crush on tom, touch-starved william schofield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schrijverr/pseuds/schrijverr
Summary: How Blake befriended Scho through sheer stubborness and touching.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Can't help it

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find this work on my tumblr, which is @schrijverr as well. Hope you pop in and say hi cause id love to talk to y'all

William Schofield didn’t know what to think about Thomas Blake. The man, more a boy, was soft, cheerful, full of life, all the things you wouldn’t expect or want in a war-zone, but it made Blake, Blake and Schofield couldn’t find it in him to want to change the other man. 

Another unexpected thing that came with the blaze that was Blake, was his love for touching people, in particular Schofield.

It had started the moment they had met, really. Schofield had been lying in a field looking at the clouds go by and telling himself that he should get up, do something useful at least, but still he didn’t. He just lay there and watched the clouds. 

Then a shadow fell over his face and before he could react there was a pain in his side and a yell above him. 

Within seconds Schofield was on guard, ready to fight this new threat, but it turned out not to be a threat at all. In the grass opposite to him was a soldier, English uniform, cursing a bit while rubbing his head.

When the man turned back to see what he had hit, his eyes widened and he quickly said: “I’m so sorry. I kicked you, I totally kicked you. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there, I was looking at this map and I wasn’t paying attention at all and I should have been paying attention, but I didn’t and I’m so sorry. Oh and you’re a Lance Corporal, I’m so sorry, sir.”

As he was spewing words, he had pulled himself up to his feet and Schofield as well. He also had put his hands on Schofields shoulders and checked him over while he rambled apologies. Although he did let go of Schofield shoulders when he noticed the rank of the man he had hit and did a quick salute with his last words.

For a second Schofield just stood there, quietly and unblinking as he tried to process what had just happened. 

The longer he said nothing, the more anxious the other became, he noticed how the smooth forehead got wrinkles and how the soft jaw clenched with stress. He then realized that he should probably say something, so he settled on: “It’s okay, I probably deserved that for lazing around. You can stand down.”

With his words the other relaxed as he let go of the salute. Then he smiled and he seemed even younger then before, he held out his hand and said: “I’m Private Blake, Thomas Blake. I came in new with the others to supplement the forces after the Somme.”

Schofield tensed a bit at the mention of the Somme, but he couldn't find it within himself to blame Private Blake when he smiled at him like that. So he grabbed the extended hand and said: “I’m Schofield, William Schofield.” then he went on and asked, “What were you trying to do with the map?”

“Oh,” Blake looked surprised at the sudden question, and frankly so did Schofield, he hadn’t been talking much since the Somme and most of his left over comrades had learned to leave him be, so the fact that he was offering up conversation at all was noteworthy, not that Blake knew that of course. 

He just went on to explain: “I’m trying to figure out where we are, but all the fighting has deformed the land so much that it’s kind of hard to pinpoint, but I guess I’m mostly trying to look busy so they won’t send me out to do something. Is that bad?”

Schofield smiled a bit at the innocent question before saying: “That isn’t bad at all, mind if I join you?”

Blake shook his head and allowed Schofield to walk next to him, unconsciously bumping their shoulders together as they did.

After that Blake just kept showing up everywhere. He was there when Schofield was assigned to dig the trenches, he showed up at the mess when Schofield was getting dinner and he sat down next to him when they had time off. 

Always with a story that needed great gestures, always nudging Schofield with his shoulder, elbow or hands, always pulling him along to something he absolutely needed to see and always with that smile.

Schofield didn’t understand why the boy kept coming back and he was desperate not to figure it out, because he would have to grow close to the other in order to do that and the last thing he wanted was forming an attachment to someone out here. 

He used to have a few friends, before the Somme, but everyone he was close with had died, so he had vowed to not grow close to someone again. Everyone here was a person on borrowed time, just waiting till the final day when the war would become too much.

So, no attachment to Blake, not if he could help it. 

He couldn’t help it. The boy would just show up and start talking to him, nudging him and Schofield couldn’t help it, he laughed, he smiled, he acknowledged the person next to him. Everything he had decided to do was thrown out of the window the moment the other pushed him away while giggling after a bad joke.

Schofield was finally getting a bit over the apprehension of forming a friendship, when the Germans attacked. As soon as the first bomb landed a cold hand gripped Schofields heart as he silently prayed for Blake to survive. 

It surprised him that he prayed, he didn’t believe in God, not anymore, and not only that, he had also prayed for another life instead of his own.

After the attempted siege of the Germans, Schofield walked through ruined trenches along the bodies of fallen men, in search of his friend. His insides felt hollow as he tried to remember where the other was supposed to be before the attack. 

He knew he shouldn’t have tolerated the endless chatter or the small touches that made him feel human, he knew that befriending Blake was a bad idea, because he was sure that the other hadn’t made it and he was alone again. He wouldn’t have been alone again if he hadn’t befriended the other, but here he was. 

Hollow and alone.

He slumped down on the ground, it would be pointless to find Blakes body. He didn’t need another ghost to haunt him in his sleep, to accuse him off surviving while they couldn’t. Blake was always pure and seemingly uncaring of the violence around them that needed to be preserved in Schofields memory.

He later learned that Blake survived the attack and was promoted to Lance Corporal, same rank as Schofield. He didn’t go looking for him. No, keeping his distance was a safer route, a route which could hurt him least when the inevitable came.

Blake didn’t agree. 

It was only three days after the attack that Schofield is awoken on an early morning by a foot nudging his side. Once he had grudgingly opened his eyes he was met by Blake, arms crossed and determined look on his face. Blake stated: “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Schofield closed his eyes again and ignored the younger soldier. He was nudged again, but he didn’t react. 

That didn’t sit well with Blake, who had gotten used to Schofields company, his surprisingly dry and funny comments or his silent acknowledgments that Blakes story was being listened to as well as the way his face would loose a bit of the lines when he would slightly lean into Blakes touches. It was strange, how a person could crave both touch and isolation.

Set out to fix whatever happened to his friend, Blake crouched down in front of him and placed a hand on Schofields shoulder, the other on his chin, forcing Schofield to look at him. The stubborn man kept his eyes close. Blake pouted and said: “You’re gonna have to open your eyes at some point, Scho, and I’m not leaving until you do.”

Schofield was determined not to give in, but not reacting also felt wrong, so he said: “Piss off, Blake.”

“Why?” Blake asked, “Just a few days ago you smiled when you saw me, you know how long it has taken me to get there? You’re always frowning, you’re gonna look eighty soon if you keep doing that.”

Schofield ignored the ribbing, but cracked open one eye to suspiciously glare at Blake. It didn’t work, because Blake smiled when he did so, completely ruining the attempted effect and lowering Schofields defenses. 

He quickly closed his eyes again and stated: “It’s unwise to form attachments, I don’t need to worry about your life when I should be worrying about my own. Now, piss off, please.”

Blake put the puzzle pieces together. The lives lost at the Somme, the detachment to reality Schofield had when Blake first met him, the unwillingness to socialize, the recent attack. 

It all clicked. 

He sighed softly and let go of Schofields jaw, when the hand left Schofield unconsciously leaned forward a bit, chasing the contact, Blakes sigh deepened. 

When nothing happened for a few more moments Schofield opened his eyes to shoot Blake a questioning look. Blake said: “I missed you, Scho. You can’t just laugh at my jokes and then go. I got a letter this morning that Myrtle was expecting, but no one who I told cared.”

“Really?” Schofield asked, he couldn’t help it. 

He had to listen to Blake ramble on about his dog every day and through the stories he had gotten quite attached to the dog. Blake brightened immediately and said: “See, you care. Come on, my presence can’t be that bad.”

Schofield rolled his eyes, then he looked down and quietly asked: “But what if you die?”

Blake let go of Schofields shoulder and knelt down in the grass, knees bumping Schofields thigh in the process. He hardened his jaw and stated: “I’m not going to die.”

Schofield raised an eyebrow at him, but the knot that his heart had been tied in loosened at the factual manner it was said in. The odds of surviving were low, but Blake was convinced that he was going to survive and Schofield couldn’t help, but believe him.

Then he smiled and said: “Okay, but only because I will be saving your dumb ass.”

“Will not, I can protect myself, thank you very much, Lance Corporal Schofield.” Blake pouted.

Schofield rolled his eyes and said: “If that helps you sleep at night, Lance Corporal Blake.” 

Blake smiled: “You noticed! I was gonna wait to tell you until you addressed me as Private, just to throw it in your face, but you are one observant little bugger.”

“I’m taller than you.” Schofield shot back.

Blake waved it away: “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on, we are digging more trenches today, to help fix the ones destroyed in the attack.”

“What? Why?” Schofield said as he grabbed the hand Blake was offering him to get him up to his feet.

“Cause I volunteered us.” Blake said with a grin.

Schofield blinked a few times then he said: “Why would you do that?”

“Well, it gave me an excuse to talk to you without you running away and if you were a dick it would be a punishment for you.” Blake said like it was the most natural thing ever.

“I hate you.” Schofield told him.

Blake pushed him and said: “No, you don’t.”

Schofield was quiet, but didn’t deny it. He just walked next to Blake with his little touches here and there and listened to the other mans chatter. It was just how it was, Schofield couldn't help it, he followed Blake wherever he went.

It was good and he hoped it would last forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Really hope this fandom isn't dead yet, because I have not been keeping up and only found this in one of my files, so I hope there is anyone out here to read it lol
> 
> Comments make my absolute day, so thank you so so much for leaving them if you did :D


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